


It's Just a Party

by in_way_too_deep



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Attempted Suicide, M/M, car crash, unhealthy coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:17:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_way_too_deep/pseuds/in_way_too_deep
Summary: Ronan attends one of K's party and Kavinsky can't handle living any longer.





	It's Just a Party

Ronan was at one of Kavinsky’s substance parties, steadfastly ignoring said party’s host. Ignoring the smug looks and ignoring the thought that, Kavinsky, in his element, was truly something to behold. 

He may have come to Kavinsky on his own recognizance, but he had given up enough of his pride by showing up to the damn thing, he wasn’t about to give Kavinsky any more satisfaction by staring. That didn’t mean he couldn’t  _listen_.

The strange crossbreed of the New Jersey and Bulgarian accent gave Kavinsky’s voice an almost melodic lilt. It made him easy to distinguish from the crowd and nearly impossible to ignore. His particular cadence was marred by the harsh words he spoke with even harsher syllables, but Ronan found he didn’t mind the added roughness.

 It was to be expected from Kavinsky and, recently, Ronan had found comfort in the expected. Everything in Ronan’s life had been turned on its head, nothing felt stable. Even Gansey, the most constant part of his life, had become irregular. Gansey’s Glendower obsession had become more real and Ronan had become less tethered. 

Everything was changing, but Kavinsky, Kavinsky was a constant. Ronan liked to use that idea, liked to pretend that was the only reason he came to the party. The alternative, the idea that he was drawn to the fire in Kavinsky’s eyes, was less desirable.  

It was pathetic but, while Ronan may not have done any of the substances at the party, he was there to meet an addiction. Every so often, he had to visit Kavinsky, just to reminded himself of why he was a bad idea. Ronan would stage a ‘chance meeting’. Kavinsky would say just the wrong thing. And Ronan would leave, anger temporarily burying desire.

The problem was that, recently, Kavinsky hadn’t been too bad. His insults had become routine and they’d lost their potency. Ronan was having to replace quality for quantity. 

He knew it was a shitty excuse, but anything was better than admitting that he simply wanted to see Joseph Kavinsky. Every time he saw him though, it was getting harder and harder to deny the way he affected Ronan.

Kavinsky reminded him of lightening; bright, violent, alive, and impossible to contain. It was more than just that though. Kavinsky was  _loud_. There was an air to him that told Ronan that there was no possible universe where Kavinsky wasn’t a king. Here, he may have been the king of the damned, but he could have made himself a king of any situation. He was something other, something ethereal. 

Kavinsky seemed to only get harder to understand the more Ronan tried. Unfortunately, the reverse didn’t seem true. Even through his obnoxious glasses, Ronan could feel Kavinsky’s piercing gaze.

Kavinsky understood things about Ronan that no one else did. He saw through Ronan; he had taken him apart and put him back together again in just a few encounters. Yet Ronan only knew enough about Kavinsky to know which pieces were the most artificial. He knew more than most, probably because no one else cared enough to try, but that was the problem. Ronan cared. Ronan cared about Joseph Kavinsky.

And anyone who knew anything about anything knew there was nothing more futile than caring about Kavinsky. It was like re-watching a sad movie, knowing what was going to happen, and hoping, against all odds, that it wouldn’t. Kavinsky was a train crash waiting to happen: hard to look at, harder to look away from. Most everyone knew this; it was fairly obvious Kavinsky was mentally unstable, perhaps even deranged, but that was part of the appeal to them. They wanted a show. They wanted the spectacle that was the rumor of Kavinsky. No one cared that the drugs and booze were poorly-disguised, self-destructive, coping mechanisms.

No one but Ronan that was. And even then, Ronan resented the fact. It was useless to care about someone who couldn’t be saved and Kavinsky was king of the damned for a reason. 

Ronan knew all this but, sometimes, he needed the visceral reminder that was Kavinsky in the flesh. He finally broke his vow of stubborn apathy and looked over at Kavinsky.

He was leaning against Proko’s golf, surrounded by his pack and some people Ronan didn’t know (he doubted Kavinsky knew them either). The party-goers seemed to orient themselves towards Kavinsky even when he wasn’t doing much of anything. Kavinsky, however, decided to face Ronan.    

His smirk seemed to grow when he realized he Ronan was looking back. “You here to party Lynch or are you just creeping?”

Ronan rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

Kavinsky then patted the hood of the car he was leaning against, as if beckoning a loyal dog.

When Ronan scowled and flipped him off, Kavinsky changed tactics. He leaned down towards to cooler at his feet, grabbed a bottle of beer, and waved it in offering. He was offering a way for Ronan to do what he’d requested without forfeiting his pride.

Ronan could have gotten a beer himself. He could have ignored the offer and walked away. Better yet, he could have gotten back in his car and left the party all together. 

He did none of those things. 

Instead he walked over to the car, the crowd parting for the ‘guest of honor’, and took the beer.

Kavinsky’s started shit talking as soon as Ronan leaned against the car. “Dick know his pet’s out for a walk?”

Ronan started standing up to leave, but Kavinsky held out his arm to stop him, silently agreeing to stop the Gansey comments, at least temporarily. He then patted Ronan’s chest and made a tsking sound. “So sensitive.”

That didn’t even receive an eyeroll from Ronan, but Kavinsky persisted. He pulled a baggie of designer silver pills out of his pocket and offered one to Ronan. Ronan shook his head but Kavinsky didn’t quit. “What the fuck are you doing at my  _substance_  party then?”

That was a question Ronan couldn’t answer, but he knew what to say to get Kavinsky to drop the subject. “I can leave.”

Pursing his lips and sighing, Kavinsky took a pill for himself, and put the bag away.

They both knew this game.

Kavinsky knew Ronan would have taken the pill had they been alone. And Ronan knew Kavinsky didn’t want Ronan to leave. It was a precarious balance that, more often than not, ended poorly for everyone involved. That never stopped them though.

The party went on, unconcerned with their hard-won balance. Unfamiliar music rocked the car, people came up to Kavinsky to exchange substances and money or favors. No one talked to Ronan, and Kavinsky was occupied with other people, but Ronan would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t enjoying himself.

With Kavinsky being less obnoxious than usual, Ronan was forced to acknowledge his charm. He watched him strike deals and manage the party effortlessly and couldn’t help but appreciate his sharp wit and silver tongue. And, even Gansey would have had to admit, Kavinsky wasn’t hard to look at.

When the crowd died down Kavinsky caught Ronan staring. He had been planning to say something lewd and insulting but he was stopped by the look in Ronan’s eyes.

The spark there captured Kavinsky; he was temporarily frozen, trapped by the electricity between them.

Kavinsky felt vulnerable and exposed. Even so, had they been alone, he probably would have acted on it. But they weren’t, so he took a swig of vodka and tried to brush it off. He paid no mind to Ronan as he climbed on the hood of the car and made an announcement. “Who’s ready to fucking go?!”

The crowd, drunk and high, cheered at the vague statement.

Kavinsky then jumped off the car, motioned to Jiang, and walked over to one of the many white Mitsubishis without looking back at Ronan. Ronan saw Jiang nod and get in his own car. 

People moved closer to the edges of the dirt road, vying to get a better view as they placed bets on the race. Ronan abstained, choosing to move to the top of the golf and watch silently instead.

He wasn’t hurt by Kavinsky’s reaction. Ronan understood and he was, quite honestly, grateful Kavinsky had killed the moment. It wouldn’t have ended well for either of them if he hadn’t. Ronan had been acting stupidly. There was no happily ever after for them, and there never would be.

Still, Ronan couldn’t help but fantasize about a different universe. One where Kavinsky wasn’t as broken as he was. A world where his sharp edges weren’t quite as sharp and didn’t cut as deeply. In that world, a world where Kavinsky could get better, Ronan thought they could have worked. But it was a futile, reckless, thought and Ronan tried to quash it right away. He decided to blame his stupidity on the alcohol and turned his attention to the race. 

Kavinsky was slightly ahead of Jiang but, when they rounded the corner, he veered off the track. He drove his car head first into a tree without slowing down. It was as if he hadn’t even attempted to correct his course at all, and all Ronan could think was that it hadn’t been an accident.

He jumped off the car and moved towards the crash site. No one else moved. Possibly, no one else knew what to do when the commander could no longer command. More likely, they thought it was all part of the show.  

Giving up all pretense of emotional detachment, Ronan started running towards the wreckage. Apparently, his concern was contagious, because someone finally decided to call 911. The call, and the knowledge that the police were en route, killed the party and Ronan ‘ people heading out.

Soon enough the the sounds of the rapidly departing party-goers died down and the fair grounds were silent except for the ticking of the dying engine and the arguing of the core members of Kavinsky posse. When Kavinsky hadn’t open the car door they’d joined Ronan in rushing over. 

Ronan, in an uncharitable moment of bitterness, was genuinely surprised they cared.

He pushed these thoughts aside as he arrived at the car. He couldn’t see much over the smoking engine but thankfully the driver’s side door wasn’t completely trashed. He was able to pry it open and Kavinsky, having forgone his seat belt, fell out onto the unforgiving red dirt. 

Ronan pulled him the rest of the way out of the smoldering vehicle and kneeled next to his head. He was conscious, but just barely.

The only thing Ronan could think to say was, “the ambulance is on its way.”  

Kavinsky groaned and managed to glare at Ronan. He cursed in Bulgarian. Ronan’s confused stare seemed to remind Kavinsky of his company. 

He translated his cursing in a strained voice. “Fucking ass face.” The anger in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. “I don’t need a goddamn hospital.”

Raising his eyebrows skeptically, Ronan replied. “Yes. You do you idiot. You could have fucking died.”

Kavinsky laughed, slightly manically. “That’s sort of the fucking point, dick.” His laughter was cut off by a pained groan and a cough.

Ronan went from worried and confused to furious. His next words were spoken through clenched teeth. “You might still get your fucking wish.”

Kavinsky turned his head to the side to cough out blood before snorting and letting his eyes close, apparently too tired to keep responding.

By this point, the remaining few had congregated around the pair. They remained silent and Ronan ignored their presence completely.

He didn’t shout at, the possibly unconscious, Kavinsky, but it was a near thing. “You selfish asshole!” Ronan took a deep breath in an, unsuccessful, attempt at calming down, before continuing.  “I finally start fucking caring and you - you try to fucking off yourself?!” When Kavinsky just coughed Ronan kept going. “You’re a God Damn coward Kavinsky.”

Kavinsky sighed and weakly patted Ronan’s thigh. Ronan was suddenly drained of his anger, more exhausted and worried than anything else. 

He lowered his voice and spoke in quiet desperation. “You’re going to make it.” He close his eyes briefly. “Just stay awake.”

Ronan opened his eyes in time to see Kavinsky crack one of his own open. He tugged roughly on Ronan’s bracelets then closed his eyes and struggled to speak. “Fucking … hypocrite.”

There was nothing Ronan could say in response, but he knew better than to let Kavinsky fall asleep, so he slapped Kavinsky across the face. It worked, but only enough to make Kavinsky glare at Ronan as he spoke through coughs. “just … let me die … fucker”

Kavinsky’s eyes closed again but Ronan could hear the ambulance approaching. It drew nearer, the noise increased, and Ronan felt secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be heard over the sirens. “I swear to God, if you survive, I will fucking  _make_  this work.”

Ronan’s voice cracked and he fought the tears gathering in his eyes. “Drag your dumb ass to rehab or some shit.” He couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t care about the broken boy, dying in his lap. 

His desperation reached a crescendo and even Ronan couldn’t tell if he was addressing Kavinsky or God. “Just give me a fucking chance!”

Before anyone could respond to Ronan’s request, the paramedics took Kavinsky away. Then Kavinsky’s pack scattered and Ronan was left alone, kneeling in the dirt, covered in a dying king’s blood.

Eventually he’d clean himself up and drive to the hospital. But, for now, he waited. He waited until the sirens were only a distant echo and even then, he didn’t move. After an unquantifiable period of time of this, waiting for nothing, he stood up and walked slowly back to his car. 

He’d head to the hospital, visit Kavinsky, see if he lived, and go from there.

It may have been an awful, pointless, decision but Ronan had said he would try and Ronan Lynch was everything but a liar.  

**Author's Note:**

> I can continue this if there's an interest. Lmk! Thanks!


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